Valentine's Day
by Fen-crya
Summary: For many, Valentine's Day is just another meaningful day of love in relationships. For others, this day is a shot at getting closer to something they can't quite ask for. Hisoka/Tsuzuki One Sided Rated for mention of rape. Angst ahoy!


I get a little sick when I realize what day it is

Story: Valentine's Day

Disclaimer: I don't own YnM.

Pairing(s) : Hisoka/Tsuzuki ( One sided )

**Author's Note**: This just goes to prove that not all stories have a happy ending. Whoever created Valentine's Day should burn in hell for torturing those of us who are forced to suffer through it. So I say damn you to hell, you selfish bastard.

**/The Story Begins/**

I get a little sick when I realize what day it is. The cheery aura around the entire ministry makes my head spin. I want to turn on my heels and leave without taking another step. But, I can't. People have already noticed me. It's too late, the red variations of this romantic Holiday blend with the white and swirl around me. I can feel my empty stomach twist haphazardly within my thinly stretched skin. It's already here.

Valentine's Day.

I don't wish to accept anything from anyone, nor do I expect it. I know no one will really think twice about it. They're all too engrossed in their own romances to notice my somewhat jaded look as I make my way through the office. I try my best not to make eye contact with my fellow coworkers. Though, I can't help the way my body feels naked without someone to walk with me. With everyone else paired up I feel like the odd match out of the bunch; the only one left out.

And I am aware, that I am alone today.

My partner had gone to Earth early in the morning for reasons I was unable to read from him. Sometimes, I think, I wish I could read his mind and not his emotions. Then I wouldn't feel so awkward now.

I sit in my cushioned chair and hold the rear of my pen to my lips in wonderment. Has he gone to earth to get me something? Surely he wouldn't. Though he has, many times, bought me things from earth. Some even bordered romantic, if you could call it that.

I closed off my mind only for a second to let my gaze wander from my desk, trying to make it less obvious I was envious of the couples surrounding me. Candies, chocolate, flowers . . . they littered the entire office. Lingerie could even be found dangling from a few bags. But not one of these lavish gifts had my name on the various tags. Not a single card had been set on my desk, no box of beautifully decorated chocolates, and no bundle of white and red roses dipped inside a tall glass vase before me.

There was only the clean span of my desk, uncovered.

I had nothing to do today, as with everyone else after taking in the consideration the free day for "love". The only problem was, who was I to share it with?

My partner was the first to come to my mind, and I did so with a blush at my cheeks. I don't think I would mind spending a full day in relaxation with him. But knowing it's Valentine's Day I won't lie, the thought of possible intimacy makes me sicker than I already am, and sicker than I want to be. I am confused with my own feelings and always they get in the way of my desires. I realized a while back that want to be close to him. And maybe in the future…our friendship could prove to be a little more.

But…

I don't think I could. I think…if he leaned in to kiss me I would push him away. I don't like intimacy at all. It only scares me. But again, these emotions prevent my happiness. I hate being alone and without love, yet when someone tries to help I run away in fear.

I try to think about the perfect situations with him to get myself used to it. But I don't think I'll ever get used to having someone else's hands on me in a lustful way. Even knowing he cares for me deeply, in my mind I could never erase that fretful feeling of being a victim; a helpless victim with no way out. I never want to be in that position again, not even close. Even now I try to imagine we're alone together with nothing but the stars outside to watch us. Though we are inside I can still feel the chill of the outdoors. It doesn't help when I already feel uncomfortable. But I tell myself I will try this time.

When his hand comes up to cup my face I can feel the shudder that resonates through me. I instantly lock up, my body turning rigid. Awkwardly I try to loosen up. But I only end up looking eccentric as I move my weight from either leg. He would whisper something to me, something to calm me down before placing his lips against mine. I think, maybe I could handle the kiss. It doesn't seem as bad as maybe I dream it out to be.

But the moment his hands wander, even in my ghostly visions, I begin to panic. I don't want to feel them on me. I don't want them touching my more sensitive areas either.

See how it hinders me?

Not even in my thoughts can I accept the only one I care for to touch me.

No matter how hard I try to show this man my feelings, it's difficult when your past gets in the way. I can think of countless times I've just let him walk away from me when I've had something to say, or times when he was so close I could reach out to take his hand, or lean against him. But I was tense with fear and just stood or sat in my place without a thing being done.

Maybe if I were more relaxed and care free I could tell him what's bothering me so badly. Maybe I could allow myself to let him know I can't live without him near me everyday. Maybe he will understand and move at my pace. It's a snail's pace, I know. But maybe I will get lucky and he will accept my feelings. Maybe he would hold me like he does deep into the night when my dreams try to steal what's left of my sanity.

I need him. But I don't think I could keep him from walking away when I need him most. And when I fail, I only get angry at my weaknesses and lash out like a child, my immaturity reaching new levels when I use names to put him and others around me down. I hate myself for it. But it's all I can do to vent when I ruin each and every moment in the present that my past has stolen from me.

And you must be tired of it by now. Isn't that why your not here now? Isn't that why you left to earth? Are you visiting someone who can satisfy your needs of intimacy? You know, I am terrible at love. I'm surprised I can even spell it with how little I use the word.

"Love" is a word that has never passed my lips in all of my 16 years of life on earth. And now that my heart has stopped its fretful beating inside my hollow chest, I wonder if I will ever get the chance to change that. Nothing but my cold skin reminds me of how I lived on earth. There was no love that I can recall from my horrid memories. And yet people expect me to associate meaning with that word? How can I?

In a twisted sense I can almost feel a different kind of "love" from the man who stole the remaining warmth from my body that night under that sweet budding cherry tree. He's taken the remains of innocence and purity I'd been saving for a rainy day. I think that's when my mind began to crack.

Up until that point, I couldn't imagine the things that man did to me were real. I didn't even know same sex intercourse between two males was even possible. But apparently, it was possible. He _made_ it possible, even when entry without lubrication proved to be his biggest obstacle. I'd been hopeful though, when I'd noticed he was having some kind of trouble, which he might decide wasn't worth whatever he'd wanted. Though, he'd found a way through force and a little help with his hands. I guess it was out of irritation, what he'd resorted to. He'd used his boney fingers to force me open a little wider through his series of blunt thrusts, pulling at my already abused skin like I wasn't even there.

I don't think by that time I had a face. To him, the only part left of me was what he was using for his own selfish pleasure. Through the series of pushes and pulls I felt a little like a rag doll. I was afraid he would forget I was still alive and really do some damage. So I'd made noises to let him know I was still under him, that I was still in pain, and that I was still suffering. His only remark to me during the entire process was that signature smirk of his.

I was fearful for my life then. I honestly believed, with all of his horrid rough housing, that he was going to force the life from me on that very ground. I was so fragile and weak that with every push and shove I thought I'd broken a bone. A few time I thought I'd heard my ribs crack. I asked him to stop because he was really hurting me, both externally and internally. Without a word I could feel his refusal. In response I tried to speak again through his heavy grunts. I pleaded with him to at least slow down. It didn't have to be a dramatic progression, just a little to ease the enflamed burn I feel inside.

This time he paid no mind to my words and I panicked. I think I even began to hyperventilate under him. I wasn't the one in control here, which was apparent.

I was only along for the ride.

Now that I think of it, he could have used his own pre cum to help. It would have been better on me at least.

I'll bet no one imagines me and my knowledge of intercourse. They never wonder why I'm always at the library with my nose stuck in so many books. I'm always sure to sit on the floor, hidden in the farthest reach of the walls of books to gain some kind of insight of what had happened to me. And I've read many things, from porn stories to rape, symbolic nightmares and nocturnal emissions to mutual intercourse. I've read everything there is to know about the male body and how it works. Yet it doesn't help in the least when I think of being under someone again. But I don't know if I'd ever have the courage to be on top either.

These books never give me the answers to my true questions. They never tell me why I feel incomplete every day. They never tell me why sadistically I dream of that disgusting man touching my body every damned night. They never tell me why he did what he did, or what his motive was to raping me before he killed me. Maybe I do have the answers. Maybe I'm still too young to put it all together yet.

All I know is, ever since then, I've been cold.

So cold.

And not even the warmest blanket can keep me from shivering at night.

From time to time I place my fingers over my heart, hoping to feel the throb in my dead veins, only to find them frozen from the harsh winters of life. They will never flow with warmth again. Never shall they reassure me that I am not alone in the dark when the only sure thing is silence.

My chest grows colder now, day by day. And today, it's ice. Though I bleed as a shinigami, it's never truly mine. _He's_ taken it. And I can never have it back.

I sigh at my chair and rock from side to side absent mindedly. There is so much emotion in the room. But none of it is directed at me. Not even from…

Wait. What was I thinking? My partner is well over 3 times my senior. And I am but a motherless child alone and scared in the tides of a foreign sea. He shouldn't waste his time trying to seduce someone like me, nor do I expect him to. I wonder if maybe I was trying to change his gentle care into something it ought not to be. I'm so inwardly desperate for affection, I know, and that I turn every handshake into a hug, every whisper to an embrace, every shadow to a familiar presence. To myself I cannot deny these truths.

All these truths stem the roots of something that steadily grows out of control. It constricts my lifeless heart and forces it to pump with artificial hope. If only…

"Well, you look bored."

My head snaps up awkwardly at the shock that someone has even noticed my smaller figure amongst the beautifully silhouetted duets.

"I am." I fake my usual attitude of hating these situations. It is expected of me to hate these love filled events. But I can't help but feel the tug inside my chest. I smooth down the goose bumps that cover my arms and sigh. It is a little depressing to think about it. But I do.

Does no one expect me to want love, as well, just because of my past? When I substitute mutual intercourse with masturbation, does it mean I can only allow myself inside my clothes?

Am I one who wants nothing, knowing he has nothing to begin with?

The man hovering near me smiles, but I know that smile lies. It lies to my face in sour apathy. "I as well."

You lie so good that for a second I felt like I wasn't alone. But I am reminded likewise when a sneaky someone slinks up behind you and passes their hands over your eyes, inducing a kind of light hearted game play. You sigh contently and guess, turning to confirm your justification. Granted, to receive the decorated box of sweets you will probably never eat.

You make me sick to.

"Listen," I begin to say, standing up suddenly. "I'm just going to go back to my room for a bit. Since we have nothing to do today I want to get some sleep."

I'm not all that tired, despite the serious lack of sleep I endured the previous night. All I can think of is everyone and their partners, the candies, the chocolate, the _love_ intoxicating the room, if I am safe in calling these emotions just that. I want out. I hate this familiar feeling of being neglected. It makes my stomach churn painfully. I can feel my chest beginning to constrict and I know, if I don't make it to my room in time they will see, they will all see; I can cry too.

I am bid a silent farewell but I pay no mind. I only notice the hand gestures vaguely as my feet all but stomp on the floor. I want to scream out in anger, demand to know what it is I have done to be punished in such a cruel way.

I know I shouldn't get emotional over something as dismal as this, but…it's Valentine's Day.

I know it sounds wrong of me, but this morning, I woke with such a different feeling. There was something in the mood of the ministry that set my being ablaze. I could feel it even in my slumber. My tired eyelids refused to let me sleep anymore when I'd gotten up. I knew what day it was.

And somehow, I'd felt courageous.

I was fully prepared and willing to take on a romantic setting maybe in the moonlight on the couch, or perhaps a dinner for two late at night. But, I couldn't find you anywhere. All you'd left was a single note under my door.

You never wished me a happy holiday.

I tried not to dwell on it. After all, I had been naïve in thinking you were planning something for me. But as I now lay on my empty bed, all alone, I wonder; what are you _really_ doing?

Some part of me wants to fee jealous and think you are spending the day with my mirror image. I often get suspicious when I see you look at him. It makes my mind wander to the things you two could be doing― what you should be doing with me.

Maybe I'm only getting ahead of myself. It's possible you're only out there gorging on sweets. But if that's true…why does my heart believe otherwise…?

Lethargically I reach for my bed stand and slid open its only compartment. Slowly I bring the small object to waver over my face. I finger its surface, my digits tracing the glitter filled lace and colorful wrapping paper.

I had prepared early for this day. I was looking forward to it far more than anyone else, because I saw it as another opportunity to get close to you and try to prove I was worth your time. Though you've never said those three words to me, I can feel it every time you're near. Your emotions are always so clear that I became sure of your intentions. I assumed you would eventually seek a relationship with me. And with this day fast approaching, I thought it to be the perfect time to attempt a show at my feelings.

I wanted to be able to tell you that I care a lot about you. I wanted to see proof that you still cared for me as well. And a gift is a perfect way to show someone that you care.

It was stupid, now I see, to assume you were serious about loving me.

…Here I am.

…With this silly little gift cradled to my chest like a heartbroken child. And maybe I am.

It's for you, you know.

And it's your favorite kind; dark with caramel. I searched everywhere for them last weekend. They were rare chocolates, but I found them. And I got them for only you, no one else.

My cheeks blush at my thoughts. But they are quickly replaced when a twinge of anger climbs to the surface of my calm demeanor. Again, I felt hurt. Again, I feel abandoned. Again, I will be let down by someone I care about.

So I let out s heavy sigh, angrily shoving the small box of chocolates under my pillow. Silently I close my eyes, deciding that only sleep can make this freshly accused horrid day pass by faster.

My dreams prove to mirror my heart, cold and empty. I rarely dream, and when I do they are filled with pain and sorrow. Often I try to shun away sleep when I know only pain awaits me.

On some nights I can't sleep at all. I try, but the closer I get to sleep the more vibrant my dreams become. They radiate images of my previous invasion and torture. It's on those nights I feel like_ he_ is waiting for me. If I sleep, he wins. So I try not to give in.

But tonight, my dreams are hollow.

I feel nothing but the slow free fall that cradles my body. I lose track of time here, and only the distant sound of drums can be heard.

My body shifts on the bed.

I hear it again. That drum won't stop. For a moment I think it's trying to talk to me. But what is it saying, I wonder? Where is it coming from?

The gentle thumps of the drum become louder. The sound pulls my consciousness back into reality. I am forced to open my eyes to the sound when I realize it's coming from outside of my dream. But I grunt in frustration, irritated that I had to be roused from the sleep I had been enjoying, nightmare free.

I looked over. According to my clock, I had slept well over 6 hours, a new record for me. I wasn't about to celebrate though. With that sound still thrumming in my mind, I moved to get up.

But then, it stopped.

Another sound, this one different, made its way through the walls to reach me. It was followed by a variety of other noises that were somewhat familiar.

'Is someone at the door?' I thought to myself, baffled.

It was late, I know. The clock confirmed it; eleven o'clock PM.

I sat up, looking around the darkened room. The light I'd forgotten in the living room danced on the edge of my bed. I couldn't help but feel a little anxiety as I moved my body from it in earnest. Could it be my partner has had a nightmare of his own?

He has his own apartment within this sect. He also has his own room.

My thoughts race at the possibilities.

What if he has come to me drunk? Will he take advantage of my weakness and…and decide to rape me? Will he try and molest or abuse me when I don't comply? I worry, because you have my only spare key…

"…Tsuzuki…?"

I am timid and careful, showing the figure outside my bedroom door only half my body. The man a ways in front of me looks up and smiles warmly, taking off his work shoes at my doorstep before walking towards me.

I feel as if he is coming too fast and I back up apprehensively.

"Tsuzuki," I repeat again, this time as a warning. I cannot read his emotions straight. This worries me to; I don't know what he plans to do.

You give me a quizzical look. "Is something wrong, Hisoka?"

I let him open my door and stand near me, but I don't acknowledge him. I simply stare at the floor in all its dull wonders. I can barely even _see_ the floor, but I stare anyway.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

_Now_ he puts his hands on me. His gentle but firm hands grip my shoulders.

"Are you afraid?"

I'm always afraid, whether you know it or not. I may seem tough on my exterior, but it's only to hide my fear. I lash out when I am most afraid, afraid of getting hurt. I feel like I can truly trust no one, I never have. Everyone I have ever known has treated me unworthy of the life I was given at birth. I was made to believe no one loved me, that I was a lowly monster undeserving of a mother's care and comfort. The only hands that ever touched me hurt me. They slapped, they burned, they pinched, and they pulled a prodded. But they never once healed me.

No matter whose hands they belonged to, they all felt the same.

But now...with my partner's hands on my shoulders, I don't feel that same kind of abusive fear. I don't feel like I'm going to be sick. I may feel a little embarrassed and awkward, but it doesn't bother me enough to pull away.

In fact, I relish the moment in silence when you pull me against your chest. Inwardly I soak up all the warmth your body allows me to gain against my cold skin. Though we are both dead, to me, your being is alive. Although you hold no true blood within your veins, it runs warm under your skin in a single pulsing vibe. And I try to tame it in my grasp and catch it, holding it close to keep me warm.

I won't tell you I enjoy this timid intimacy, I never do. I won't thank you for it either. But I will be patient. I won't pull away unless you do first. And even then I feel cheated.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

I take a moment's hesitation.

"Yes," I answer truthfully. "I wasn't feeling very well this morning."

Secretly, I want you to say something completely sappy and dumb. I want you to make me blush with a cheesy romantic remark. I want you to tilt my chin up and kiss me just to keep me from staring at your feet that shift so close to mine. I'm so desperately waiting for you that my body starts to tremble with a fretful anticipation. I'm so afraid of intimacy in all its forms. But I want to be in a relationship with you, with my kind and gentle, handsome partner.

I don't care if you're the same sex as me. I don't care at all. I just want to be close to you always. You've always protected and cared for me, even when I asked you not to. To me, that's all I could ever ask for and more.

I wait now…wait for you to make the first move because I know I am unable to.

"Are you feeling better now?"

I swallow my frustration and concentrate on the feeling of his seemingly calm emotions as they spark from his fingertips.

"A little…"

I want you to stay with me tonight. I know I'm not ready for intercourse. But I am also aware that mentally I may never be. However, I don't want you to leave me tonight. I want you to lay beside me and put me to sleep with your sweet whispers and gentle demeanor. I want you to tell me you feel the same way I do.

It may be this particular day that has sparked these feelings within me, but I can't deny them.

"I guess I'm still a little tired."

And secretly, I want him to…

"Hisoka…"

He gently places his fingers under my chin and lifts my head a little higher. My heart skips a beat and for a moment I forget to breathe. I feel very unsure of myself when I see you staring intently at me. There is something in your expression that makes me shudder.

I can feel your breath on my lips. I open my mouth only slightly in invitation. I'm trying to hint at what I want without being blunt about it. I'm blushing already, my face heating up at the thought of your lips on mine. I can't help but imagine what could go wrong with the kiss.

What if I swallow my fear and lean in only to miss? What if I'm awkward about it and it makes me unattractive? What if, when we kiss, it's sloppy and I feel like a fish out of water, sucking on moist air? Or…what if I accidentally push too hard against your teeth?

My mind is reeling…

Am I supposed to use my tongue? How do I know when to open and close my mouth? Do I count to three? Or what if I'm not supposed to use my tongue on the first kiss? How am I supposed to know? Will he say something if the kiss isn't enjoyable? What if…

All my thoughts abruptly halt as he pushes his head forward and leans his forehead on mine. I dare to breathe at this moment, very lightly. His emotions are directed into my skin. It warms me suddenly. I can almost _feel_ his lips on mine…

"You should sleep more Hisoka; I don't like it when you don't feel good."

He places a soft kiss atop my forehead and pulls back altogether, leaving me not only confused, but ashamed and hurt. For a moment I feel angered by his actions.

Why had he not kissed my lips instead? I was ready!

"How about you go back to bed? It is getting late." He smiles. "I'll see you in the morning?"

He leans in to hug me but I don't move. I simply let him take hold of me. It's then I realize he's not going to kiss me. He's already turning away. He's already leaving me.

"Tsu…"

It's my poor chance at stopping him. But his name never fully resonates through my hoarse whisper.

He's stopped at the main entrance; I can see him from where I stand unmoved from my spot. I want to call him back, to say something, anything that will keep him here. Again, I cannot say a word. I'm frozen and unable to voice my feelings. I just stared there, looking unfazed.

I see him looking back at me, maybe wanting to say something. Maybe he is waiting for me to say something. He never does, or he lets it slip from his mind, because I'm broken inside when I watch him disappear behind that door.

_It's Valentine's Day!_ I want to scream it aloud until he returns to me. _You're supposed to love me on Valentine's Day!_

It's frustrating, to love someone. I'd thought all along he'd felt such strong emotions for me. After all, I could_ feel_ them every time we touched. So why had he just left me, alone again, on Valentine's Day? Is he afraid of my reaction?

He can't be, not on the day I'm finally ready to try! He can't ruin it!

I'm utterly _ashamed_.

I'm the only one who has been alone for the entirety of the day, and I will remain alone for the rest of the night.

Wait…if I am alone and my partner just left…doesn't that mean he is alone too?

Unless…

Now I really feel sick, so sick that I fall to my knees with my stomach in pain.

What if he's with someone else? What if he only sees me as a son or brother to look after and nothing more? After all, he's nearing 100 years in age and I'm not even 18 yet. How could I have expected a man like him to want a boy, a _child_ like me?

God, I'm such an idiot.

And the think…I'll never be able to physically grow up…

I hadn't noticed exactly when I started crying, only that I was. I wiped at my nose angrily with the back of my palm when a tear slid down to tickle my skin.

"You're so stupid!" I spat out lowly to myself, punishing me for such a sin of ill-repentance. "Stupid-!"

My fists were clenched into tight little balls. I could feel my blunt nails digging into my skin, but I wanted it to hurt. No, I needed it to hurt. I needed to feel pain. Without pain I couldn't be punished. And stupidity was definitely worth a harsh punishment. So I worsened it, slamming my left fist up against the side of my temple.

For a split second a white and black flash swept across my vision. But I didn't care. I deserved it. I deserved the pain.

I did it again, this time directing the blow further back.

"I hate you," I nearly screamed through gritted teeth.

It was my fault. It was entirely my fault. I'm the reason he didn't stay. I'm the reason everyone treats me like a kid. I'm the reason my parents hate me. I'm the reason Muraki raped me and turned my body into a dying piece of art. I'm the reason I'm alone. And I'm the reason my partner has to sacrifice his defenses to protect someone incapable of helping themselves. It's all because of me, I'm the problem. I was always the problem.

I only get in people's way.

There are so many emotions inside me that I feel overwhelmed. I cry harder, unable to stop myself from the uncontrollable sobs. I'm hyperventilating again, unable to catch my breath. I lift my other fist to pound it against the opposite side of my head in complete anguish. I'm screaming into my lap like a pouting child.

"You don't deserve to live! You're disgusting! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"

No one can hear me, I know. I think it's better that way. I make it so my screams are muffled, so I can suffer alone.

After all, don't I deserve it? Don't I deserve to be alone?

I'm incapable of doing anything right.

My head and body thrashes from side to side on the floor as I continue to abuse myself. My sobs have begun to quiet a bit to let the rage out, but nothing can assuage this self hatred that burns within me. I couldn't stop the hateful words from spilling forth, they just came out.

No one could stop me from this emotional and physical harm. Even _he_ never came back, not like I wanted him to. And after the start of my self abuse I don't think I had the strength in me now to continue. The hate was still there, of course. But I was living with it.

My chest was heaving. I could only lay here on the carpeted floor in a tangled heap of flesh and clothing. I don't try to calm my breathing, I'm too angry to care. As an added affect I slap myself harshly across the face. I repeat the action several times, each time increasing the pace until I am able to taste blood in my mouth.

I'm distraught to find I have tired too quickly and let my hand fall beside me. I'm so tired, I realize. I'm so tired of everything. But I feel better now that I've vented. Or at least, I feel a little better now that I've reminded myself that life can be cruel.

I should know better then to open up to people. They only lure you in so they may hurt you in the future. And something, that pain is irreversible.

I sit with my body fully erect on the floor, my irritated eyes now staring meaningfully at my bed. I've just remembered what I've hidden there. It wasn't much to begin with but I'd done it anyway. Maybe he never expected me to go out on a limb and be anything other than stoic.

My legs feel like lead as I try to pull myself up onto my comforter. My movements are sluggish from my over exertion. _Oh well_, I think. It's your fault anyway. Maybe next time you won't be so stupid.

Gently I reach under my pillow to retrieve that small box of chocolates I'd saved for you. My dear, sweet partner, to think you've turned down sweets. I guess you can, now that I've seen it.

"Stupid chocolates…"

I begin to cry again, this time softly. I am still far too tired to be over emotional at this point. My head is pounding as I sluggishly waltz into the bathroom, hovering over the toilet like the homeless do with fire in the chilled weather. It's there I find my fingers moving on their own accord, untying the lace from around the box and carefully removing the vibrant paper. When the lip comes open I sigh through my tears and sniffle. Somehow the sight brings forth so much pain.

I rid myself of these petty attachments and empty the contents of the box, one by one, into the empty toilet. I watch without emotion as slowly the box is emptied. I carelessly stuff what cannot be flushed into the bottom of the small garbage can near the sink. My body slides effortlessly to the floor.

I watch, remorsefully, and hold onto the sides of the bowl, leaning forward only to pull the handle and watch as the remains of my hope spiral into the unknown darkness.

Now it seems as though all my energy has been drained as I can no longer sit up. I allow myself to collapse pathetically against the bathroom floor. The darkened ceiling is all I can see now, even when the world surrounds me in vibrant colors. I can only see the darkness that captures me in its vice. And I am unable to free myself. It pulls my consciousness from me and forces me to sleep, even as the chill of the tile seeps into my skin. Nothing can bother me anymore.

And you know, the only thing I'll ever regret...was meeting you.

You've given me that false hope and I'll have to admit you're the biggest jokester of them all.

But it only proves to me that some people can't be loved.

I only hoped that this time maybe it could be real, that I could be taught to love and be loved in return. Perhaps I'm not supposed to be happy at all, I'm not so sure if joy was ever in my future. Some people are just unlucky that way.

And yet I still cling to hope that one day…you _will_ love me.


End file.
